


Chasing You Down

by Reyn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyn/pseuds/Reyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski, the famous intergalactic video blogger, is about to get his chance to get up close and personal with the equally infamous Velocity Jockey, Derek Hale. Not that he wants to, or anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing You Down

**Author's Note:**

> I have a single warning for this fic (aside from sex). This is what I have dubbed a mythic sci-fi. Because in this, humanity is a collective jerk and couldn’t pronounce half the alien specie names, and renamed them after the mythical creatures of Earth that they best represented. Because the ancients had already started the trend when they first started discovering and naming stars and planets with Roman mythology, so why not pay homage to their ancestry and continue it?
> 
> Also, the term velocity jockey (and VJs) was coined from Tanya Huff in her Confederation book series. If you have the time, I strongly recommend checking out her Smoke and Shadows book series. Because the main character is essentially magic!Stiles.

 

“Alright, viewers, I know none of you would really call this ‘news’, but considering who it involves, I’m obligated as a professional vlogger to do some actual reporting every once in a while.” Stiles cleared his throat and did his best to include some form of emotion into the deadpanned tone his voice tended to take when he was talking about something he didn’t care about. He knew he would fail even before the words came tumbling from his lips. “The inevitable has once again happened in the world of Velocity Jockeys – shocking, I know – only this time, it happened to long-time veteran and fandom favorite, Kate Argent.”

There was a pause as the holographic cameras brought up the mostly-clear image of a hot pink racepod, zipping and twirling through the debris of Saturn’s outermost ring in an impressive display of showmanship. It dodged an oncoming attack of ice chunks passing through the vicinity from behind, only to suddenly explode immediately after running into a wayward asteroid that was well within range of the VJ’s peripheral vision.  
  
“HA! I’m sorry, but for someone with her level of experience, she really should have seen that one coming,” he crowed. “Kate Argent may be missed by many, but I’m willing to bet hard money that the reason behind that stupid, rookie mistake was because she got cocky and was looking behind her to see if her opponent was impressed at her level of skill.” Stiles couldn’t help but end in a snort. As one of the sport’s most popular vloggers for Velocity Jockey races in the galaxy, he was practically guaranteed to get an overwhelming amount of hate mail for that particular comment.

He didn’t care. He didn’t like her anyways.

“Now on to more interesting news! In the Outer Asteroid Belt, Derek Hale has once again proven himself to be the greatest thing since the nanochip, defying death for the umpteenth time – smashing his Galaxy Camaro through several colliding asteroids moments before impact to make it to the finish line in record time. Unfortunately, this stupidly reckless move came with the price of my camera being destroyed, so please bear with me as I attempt to recreate Derek Hale’s piloting by hand.”

A crude, 2D drawing of what looked like a bright blue jellybean was pulled up, moving through a field of scribbles as if it were a confused bee.

“For the record, I am obviously not an artist and _none_ of you are allowed to judge me because at least I’m trying. And as one – if not the _only_ – sentient being in existence with a camera as good as mine, can you really blame me for never bothering to learn how to draw? I created the technology for a reason, and I’m pretty sure a piece of my soul _died_ when my camera failed to return to me when the race was over. Being forced to use these fingers to hold a pen and _write_ of all things is such an archaic –! I got a cramp! Right here!” He pointed at his knuckle. “Is that normal? How the hell did our ancestors even deal with – damn it, there I go getting off topic again.” Stiles abruptly flipped the switch to stop the recording and rubbed both hands over his face, taking a moment to reign in his emotions.

One of the main reasons people turned to him for VJ news versus all the other guys was because Stiles hands-down produced some of the best holographic images the races had to offer.

Normally, owning a CJ5 was nothing to boast over, but Stiles had spent nearly all of his life savings modifying it into something that surpassed even the top brands of cameras out there. Without it, he was nothing. Just another wannabe video blogger amongst the millions out there who had an opinion about an outlawed subject.  
  
Fortunately, the camera was insured. But that didn’t help his profession at all, seeing as how the CJ5s were no longer produced and it would take him close to a celestial year to rebuild the damn thing. Stiles sorely wished he could sue Derek Hale on principle alone for being so careless when the camera was within damage range. What kind of idiot blasts through asteroids rather than avoids them? But as it stood, media laws got the short end of the stick when it came to liabilities, despite the overwhelming Freedom Acts that protected them.

And so Stiles had opted instead to file a complaint with Derek Hale’s manager, Peter.

His original plan had been to send the man an email every hour on the hour until he received some sort of acknowledgement, but much to his surprise, his first message was responded to a mere thirty-six minutes after it was sent. This really didn’t mean much, because Stiles discovered that Peter had a very roundabout way of responding to things, and it was proving to be extremely frustrating trying to force the manager to get to the point he wanted to hear.

Stiles was just about ready to give up and storm the place in person when Peter finally admitted that nearly all the camera pieces had been found and that the memory chip would be extracted. He even went as far as to promise that all images would be immediately emailed directly to Stiles and not sold off to the highest bidder.  
  
“Immediately” had been over four hours ago.

Seeing as how Stiles still had yet to receive any of his photos and was now well past the deadline of first news blog reporting, he was starting to think the worst of Derek Hale and his manager.  
  
He was also starting to fear the worst as well.

Because seriously, his baby was top of the line in holographic photography: able to follow any appointed target and divide itself in up to six segments to capture a perfectly three-dimensional image. It was also able to record up to one hundred sixty seconds worth of material to loop in one photograph in astonishingly high res. Add on its most recent ability to capture crystal clear images in all light wavelengths, and no other camera even came close to its league.  
  
Not to mention combining all of that with Stiles’ photography skills easily made any picture he took worth millions. If Peter were to decide to turn a profit, there would be at least five beings Stiles could think of off the top of his head who would be clamoring for first bid on the camera itself.

A low ringing drew Stiles out of his stewing as he shut down all components related to his recording program and pulled up the V-screen. Seeing the slightly infamous face of manager Peter waiting for him to answer the call caused Stiles to flail a bit in his hastened attempt at straightening in his seat.  
  
“Holy – Peter!” he exclaimed, belatedly remembering to hit the ‘accept call’ button. “You’re – Peter! Derek’s – Peter!”

A rather suave eyebrow rose in amusement. “Yes, I assumed we had established that through our exchanged emails.”

Stiles couldn’t help but remain slightly hunched over his keyboard, his shock slowly melting away into suspicion. “…Why are you calling me? What’s wrong with emailing?”

“Just wanted to put a face to the name that’s made Derek so famous.” Peter grinned. “Hello, Stiles. How are you on this fine day? I know space doesn’t exactly get weather, but I heard Venus is getting some _excellent_ rainstorms—”

“Hi, Peter,” Stiles interrupted, finding no reason to allow for pleasantries when his emotions were in a whirl of shock, suspicion, and the general anxiety of ‘GIVE ME BACK MY CAMERA’. “Why are you calling me? You don’t have my pictures, do you? No, we both know you have no reason to be calling me if you had my pictures in your possession,” he pointed out as Peter opened his mouth to answer.

“True,” the manager relented. But we also know that I wouldn’t have bothered to call you and gloat if I had taken the time to sell them.”

Stiles’ pessimistic nature refused to let him buy it. “Then why are you calling me? Was the memory chip destroyed?”

“No, the memory chip is fine,” Peter said with a reassuring smile.

Frowning, Stiles wracked his brain for a reasonable explanation as to why Derek Hale’s manager would ever bother calling a lowly media plebian such as himself. An idea formed, causing dread and anger to suddenly wash over him.

“Are you _blackmailing_ me for my photos?”

“What would you do if I said I was?”

The look of horror that dawned across Stiles’ face must have been a sight to behold, because a moment later, Peter started snickering.

“I’m kidding,” he relented, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just pulling your leg, I promise.”

Stiles decided then and there that he didn’t like Peter at all. “Alright, wise guy, you have five seconds to tell me where my pictures are before I trace the location of this call, send you a virus, and then physically track you down myself.”

“Stiles,” Peter admonished almost mockingly. “You do realize that if you were to carry out your threat, you would have to wait that much longer for your pictures, right? And by then, Derek’s latest run will be old news.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Stiles started clattering his fingers across the keyboard in mockery. “Oh, this just in! Derek Hale’s run is _already_ old news! Sorry, viewers, looks like I’m about to start focusing my reports on a different VJ. Maybe one with a manager who has better people skills.”

“You do realize there’s a certain irony in you trying to blackmail me because of _my_ people skills, right?” Peter’s unamused face tilted to the side.

“Oh my God. Will you just—” Fists clenched, Stiles forced himself to stop and take a calming breath. His agitation would more than likely get him nowhere. “Can I just have my camera back? Please?”

“Stiles, I would love to give you your camera back,” Peter answered with a satisfied smile. “Unfortunately, I can’t.”

“You…can’t?” Stiles echoed unsurely. “What do you mean you can’t? I’m not even asking for all the pieces here, just the ones you found. I want them back, give them back.”

“I don’t have them.”

“You don’t—”

“Derek has them,” Peter quickly finished.

Realizing his mouth was hanging open, Stiles slowly closed it, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before asking his next question. “Why does Derek Hale have the remains of my camera?”

“That’s a good question. He mentioned something about a bunch of similar-looking debris caught in his vents and whatnot.” Peter shrugged and waved his explanation off. “You should ask him when you go to pick it up.”

The carefree statement gave Stiles a moment’s pause.

“Wait. Did I just hear you say _I’m_ picking up my camera?”

Peter looked up slowly from his tablet, which had momentarily caught his attention when it let out a soft ping. “Yes. Exciting, isn’t it?”

Stiles could feel his throat closing up. “Why? Why can’t you just email me the images and send me back the pieces like I requested in the first place?”

It took a few moments for Peter to answer, seeing as how his attention was once again on the tablet. “Because his uplink his broken, and we would hardly want to risk sending something so precious to you through public means, now would we?” He set the device aside and smiled. “Besides! I would never deny Derek’s biggest fan a chance to meet the man himself.”

Stiles blinked. “Uhm. What?”

“Plus, I’m sure he’d love to hear a few of your pointers—”

“Whoa, hang on there, buddy. You are so far off—no.” Stiles’ hands waved before him in denial. “I’m not a _fan_ of Derek Hale.”

Peter’s blank stare was a bit creepy.

“My blogs focus on him because he’s damn good at what he does!” Stiles felt prompted to explain “Not because I’m crushing on him like some academy tween who stares at his face for—!”

“Right. I sent you Derek’s coordinates.” Stiles email pinged with a new message. “I doubt he’ll be expecting you, but he was just about done fixing up the Camaro when I left, so he should be back in his room by now. If he isn’t, just leave him a message that will invoke the fear of God into him or something.”

Stiles was barely listening, too busy staring at the new message notification with a pale face and gaping mouth.

“Oh, and Stiles? I never insinuated you having a crush on him. Toodles!”

And with that, the V-link was closed.

*

Stiles could hardly believe he had been reduced to stalking down celebrities for his photos. The idea itself made him feel like he was no better a sleazy paparazzo.

Which…now that it occurred to him, was probably why he was so nervous. Rumor had it Derek Hale hated paparazzi, and Stiles didn’t doubt it. The man had a general look of danger about him, and it was a well-known fact that VJs weren’t the sanest bunch of beings.

Stiles had seen some of the brawls VJs started first hand. It was as if they couldn’t handle being in gravity for too long when their rightful place was out testing the laws of aerial physics. So instead, they would test the limits of their fists with your face.

When Stiles was new to the less-than-legal sport, he had made the mistake of trying to integrate himself among the velocity jockeys and was rewarded with a black eye. Some of the other guys weren’t as lucky and had to have certain body parts regenerated – something he definitely did _not_ want to experience with Derek Hale’s hands.

Not that he wanted to experience _anything_ with Derek Hale’s hands. Except maybe a firm handshake to show that there were no hard feelings.

Which…would probably be asking for a lot seeing as how the station he had been sent to featured gravity that was equivalent to Earth’s old standards.

C.O.S.M.O.S.  Station was one of the first commercial human establishments within the Solar System, and, due to its historical significance, was one of the more popular tourist attractions within this arm of the Milky Way Galaxy.

This also made it the biggest pain in the neck to visit, seeing as how all of its facilities were made with human physiology in mind, despite constantly being visited by decidedly _non_ -human entities (and no, humanoids didn’t count).

As he entered the space station’s Nebular Network and found which tube would take him to the level Derek Hale was staying, Stiles decided to focus on how he would approach the pilot about getting what he could of his camera back. He didn’t harbor any illusions about it being an easy task, despite having been sent in with Peter’s blessing. If anything, it was probably a ruse and Stiles was heading straight for his own untimely demise.

Unfortunately, the tubes were not the best place to think about anything other than keeping your arms and legs from flailing about as you made sure to grab the right exit bar before it passed. Stiles had reflexes fast enough for this mode of transportation to not faze him, but still found that some concentration was required. Concentration that was broken as he was smacked in the face by a thrashing tendril of a passing medusa, who was doing their best to stop spinning out of control as they flew passed him at a much-too-fast pace.

Stiles had no idea why any species aside from humans tried to use the tubes at all. They had been invented with a human’s bone density in mind, and tended to be a hazard to the alien’s physical being if they had a more sensitive body structure. It was also a risk to everyone involved if one of the larger aliens decided to hop aboard.

Regardless of the risks, countless creatures flocked to use it as a regular mode of transportation, often causing delays during rush hours.

Oddly enough, as he grabbed the blue exit bar and swung himself out of the tube and safely onto solid ground, the first thought to enter Stiles’ brain as he patted himself down for any potential injuries caused by flapping tentacles was, ‘ _Rumor also has it that Derek Hale is part-wyre._ ’

It was enough to make Stiles freeze and his heart rate rise.

Well…that would explain the abnormally high charisma despite his often surly disposition. Wyres were known to excrete a certain type of pheromone that tended to draw humans in despite their harsh nature and more animalistic tendencies.

Continuing on his way, Stiles figured he would be fine. After all, science argued that wyres couldn’t actually procreate outside of their race, thus rendering the rumor false. And if the science was wrong, then Stiles would just…use his anger and annoyance to stay focused. And try not to breathe too closely to Hale to avoid turning stupid.

Entering the hotel block where the VJ was reportedly staying, he gave a polite nod to the wary receptionist as he passed her by and punched in the visitor’s key code he had been given in the email. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as the entryway to the room elevators actually slid open. He shot a triumphant smile to the receptionist, whose eyes only narrowed in suspicion, but before she could question his motives, he darted through and caught the nearest waiting elevator.

Okay, so it looked like this might be the real deal, which meant YES! Stiles was getting his baby back! Or…most of his baby. At least some of his baby? He probably should have asked just how much of his camera still existed.

As the elevator s dropped him off on the correct floor, such thoughts were pushed aside in favor of staring at the lit ‘332’ sign next to what was supposedly Derek Hale’s door. Taking measured steps forward, Stiles’ eyes flickered over the false wood paneling before slowly reaching out to press his thumb against the scanner to announce his presence. Rather than hearing a soft electronic chirp that would let him know if the device was working or not, the door simply slid open, startling Stiles to the point of jumping.

He remained where he was until it became apparent that no one was behind or in the immediate vicinity of the door. When Derek Hale, or any other sentient being for that matter, failed to appear, Stiles shuffled forward, ignoring the door as it shut behind him in favor of glancing around the room.

“Hello? Derek Ha—uh, Derek?”

The room was a nice one, complete with large windows that showed the view of the distant asteroid belt where Derek Hale had his earlier run. Definitely a step or two above what Stiles would imagine for a Velocity Jockey, but still contained hints that a VJ inhabited the space.

Such as the scattering of tools on the glass coffee table, alongside the more interesting rocks VJs were known for keeping whenever something rare got stuck in a kink in their aircraft. Stiles hurried forward to examine the mess, but sadly, there were no metallic hints of his camera.

Turning around, Stiles considered ordering something from the room service station and waiting for the VJ to return when he noticed a pair of shoes discarded off to the side, leading in the direction of an open doorway. Curiosity getting the better of him, he headed towards them, only to find a pair of socks a bit further down. He continued to follow the trail into a bedroom and discovered pants, an ancient-looking necklace, and just inside the walk-in closet, a shirt piled on top of oh my God, that was _the_ leather jacket.

Stiles stopped short and stared at what he honestly considered the holy grail of all Derek Hale memorabilia.

Leather was a rare commodity when you lived a life off-world, and practically unheard of in the circles of Velocity Jockeys. It was too thick and constricting to wear when racing in such a high-stress environment, and the fact that Derek Hale never failed to be seen without it during a race made it the source of countless amounts of gossip.

Some rumors said it was a remnant of his planet-bound past. Others insisted it was a gift from some undiscovered alien world after he saved their race. Or a gift from his one true love, who he left behind because the call of the stars was stronger than the beating of her heart.

Stiles snorted. ‘He never washes it’ was also a popular one.

Stiles never bothered to dwell over such rumors, but finding the jacket so carelessly discarded in front of him caused something to short-circuit in his brain.

Looking around to ensure he was alone, he dropped to his knees and picked up the article of clothing. Having never touched leather before, Stiles found it rougher than he expected and…warmer. As he held the jacket close, he caught a whiff of what was probably Derek Hale’s cologne – if he even wore any. Without thinking, Stiles buried his face in the jacket and inhaled deeply, unable to stop the shiver that ran through him as his body registered the musky scent, marking it as no one but Hale’s.

Stiles suddenly found himself wishing he were closer to Derek H…Derek. Not just physically or even mentally, but emotionally. To have him actually care that Stiles recorded his races. To have him download and watch Stiles’ blogs. To listen to Stiles’ advice. To have him try to watch Stiles as closely as Stiles watched him.

Without thinking, Stiles slipped his arms into the jacket. Perhaps if he could get a bit of his own scent onto the fabric, Derek would subconsciously try to search him out. But just wearing it wouldn’t be enough. Oh no. Stiles’ hand dropped down to his inner thigh and squeezed. He would need to ensure that his smell was strong enough so that Derek wouldn’t forget. So that Derek would come and find him. Pin him against a wall. Demand to know why he filled Derek’s every thought. Why he filled Derek’s every dream.

The subtle “ _ahem_ ” cracked through the air like a whip, causing Stiles’ eyes to fly open and his hand to halt from its previous caressing over the bulge in his pants. His heart stopped for several seconds before beating loudly enough for him to hear the echo in his ears.

Without even bothering to look over, Stiles mechanically removed the jacket and placed it back on the floor, being careful enough to rearrange it to how it was before.

“So…I’m going to assume the part-wyre rumors are true?” he asked conversationally as he nudged the jacket a few more times before satisfied with its positioning.

He glanced up to show he was waiting for an answer, only to have his mouth go dry instead. There, leaning against the entry to the closet, wearing nothing but a small white towel around his hips was a naked Derek Hale.

Rivulets of leftover water ran over his toned chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake and causing his muscles to stand out as he fought not to shiver against the recycled air that could be heard switching its circulation on. Black hair was a partially dried mess, showing Derek had made an attempt at toweling it and didn’t bother with the rest of his body before leaving the shower, meaning he probably enjoyed wandering around naked so he could air-dry instead.

Intense pale eyes seemed to be studying Stiles and all he could do was sit frozen on the floor with his hands in his lap and wait for his sentence to be decided upon and carried out.

He kept his unwavering gaze on Derek and noticed how the man watched his mouth when his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.

“Why don’t you come out of the closet and join me in bed to find out?” Derek asked in answer, straightening his form so he could move to the side and let Stiles see an uninhibited view of said invited location.

*

Later on, Stiles would realize the proudest moment in his life was learning that Derek fucked the way he flew. It was mind-blowing, fast-paced, and no one position was held for too long.

Stiles was never given a chance to catch his breath as he was taken from just about every angle humanly possible. But what drove him to absolutely frantic was the way Derek refused to hit that one spot that would help bring him to completion.

Derek truly seemed to enjoy making Stiles writhe, demand, and beg as he pounded relentlessly into the vlogger, soothing Stiles’ curses and vengeful holds with stolen kisses and licks.

It wasn’t until reverse psychology was tried with a breathless “Is this really all you’ve got?” that Stiles suddenly found himself on top of Derek, with complete control being handed over.

“You want to drive?” the VJ challenged, stopping all activities just as suddenly as he had started them.

Momentarily stunned, Stiles was prompted back into action at the flash of annoyance in Derek’s eyes when he failed to start moving right away. He took the reins and moved his hips in a way that had Derek drawing in a sharp breath as his hands tightly gripped Stiles’ pale thighs.

Stiles would have loved to take the time to tease and gloat over how such a simple move resulted in such a reaction, but as it was, he was more interested in using this change of events to his full advantage. Within seconds, Stiles found the angle that had him seeing stars.

A gritted “Fuck!” was punched out of him as he tried to hold the position long enough to—

His back hit the mattress, and Derek was once again above him, his feral grin rendering Stiles speechless as he truly taken for all that he was worth.

Stiles’ prostate could barely handle the sudden onslaught. His hands clawed at the pillow above his head to prevent himself from touching his leaking penis in a vain effort to prolong this spike in pleasure, despite knowing it would all be over in seconds.

“You don’t want to come for me?” Derek panted out, his hands rubbing the inside of Stiles’ thighs, causing him to arch his back in a sharp curve.

Stiles hoped his answering snort was intelligible, even as he spread his legs wider as if to prove he could take more.

The sight he painted had Derek groaning, his thrusts losing all sense of rhythm.

“But I’m coming for you.”

The sincere stability that underlined the strained tone had Stiles’ eyes snapping to Derek’s, who didn’t bother to hold the stare as his orgasm overtook him.

Desperate not to be left behind, Stiles reached down and scratched at Derek’s thighs, reminding him to keep moving. Instead, Derek’s hand trailed down, encircled Stiles’ erection, and gave it the singular squeeze that was needed to send him so deep into ecstasy that the world faded to black.

*

When Stiles came to, it was to the sound of soft clicks and a familiar buzzing. Forcing his eyes open, he found himself face to face with his camera, which was darting all around the bed, snapping pictures as if its tiny robotic life depended on it.

Stiles would have jumped up in surprise, but found he was pinned by a strong arm wrapped around his middle. The instinct of fight or flight immediately took over, and he began to kick, hit, and flail wildly to free himself, grab his CJ5, and run.

From behind him, a groggy grunt sounded, followed by a relenting, “Okay, okay.”

The arm moved and Stiles scrambled out of the bed, taking a pillow with him to help preserve at least some level of dignity. Once he was an acceptable distance away, he whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at an only partially awake Derek Hale.

“You!” he cried, clutching his pillow in front of his crotch as he tried to feel around and find his clothes without taking his eyes off the culprit.

Derek’s eyebrows rose in inquiry as he dragged himself up into a sitting position.

“You guys told me my camera was broken!” Stiles accused, mouth falling open as his CJ5 left his side and divided into three parts to start snapping holographic pictures of Derek Hale. “Stop that!” he ordered the camera, feeling betrayed as it failed to obey his verbal command with a startling spark of electricity.

Waving away one of the parts that was trying to get a bit too friendly with his groin, Derek scooted to the edge of the bed and stood, stretching a bit before flopping back onto the mattress. Apparently getting up so soon after sex was obviously overrated when you risked your life for a living.

“So this annoying camera is yours?” he asked, batting aside another attempt at a close-up of his penis.

“Yes,” Stiles sniffed, inching closer in an attempt to grab at least one of the pieces fluttering about.

“It was in one of the Camaro’s vents. I guess the wing or whatever got lodged in there thanks to the last round of debris in the race and the rest of the parts just followed along,” Derek explained. “It was pretty banged up when I found it, but once I put the pieces together and fixed it up, it came to life like it was possessed and followed me everywhere, snapping pictures of me nonstop. I was getting ready to break it again when Peter showed up and told me not to.”

Stiles’ eyes widened in unseen horror, his head twisting as he recalled the hammer he had seen on the coffee table earlier. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned back and found Derek standing before him, with his clothes held out in offering.

“Ye— _ahem_ —yes.” Stiles snatched his clothes away in an effort to regain some pride. “I could sue you, you know.”

Derek’s brow shot up in amusement. “You snuck into my hotel room, seduced me, filmed the whole incident, and are now threatening to sue me? On what planet did you learn your logic?”

Stiles’ mouth fell open. “First of all, _you_ seduced _me_!”

“You were wearing my jacket!” Derek complained, stepping back so Stiles could have room to hop into his pants. “ _And_ you were touching yourself! How was I not supposed to respond to that?”

Stiles chose ignore all that and pulled his shirt on instead. “Secondly,” he continued, “you _stole_ my one-of-a-kind camera, which still has yet to be returned to—!”

With reflexes only born of a VJ, Derek grabbed the rejoined camera from midair and presented it to Stiles.

“Tell you what,” Derek offered, abruptly changing his mind and holding the camera out of reach. “Seeing as how you’re obviously a reporter and all, I have no reason to trust your word that you won’t go selling these images to the highest bidder. Maybe I should hang onto this until you can give me some type of reassurance.”

A whimper escaped from Stiles before he could properly shut his mouth. But as his eyes darted between his CJ5 and Derek, he realized exactly what opportunity he was being presented here.

Derek didn’t know that he had absolutely no intention of sharing those photos anyone. (No one deserved to behold the nudity of someone as perfect and streamlined as Derek Hale.) All the pilot knew was that a reporter’s silence had to be bought or bargained for. And Stiles was not above either.

“Fine. A full-length interview.” Stiles didn’t bother including the word ‘exclusive’. Because any interview Derek agreed to would be exclusive – the man was notorious for keeping his mouth shut about anything that didn’t involve his races. Hell, even his favorite food was a mystery to most.

With this, Stiles would have the chance to ask him what his favorite color was, his thoughts on politics, his childhood, what his diet consisted of, where he was even from, his guilty pleasures…

“No.”

“No?” Stiles echoed, thrown. He was quick to recover with a disdainful scoff. “Are you sure you’re in a position to be turning me down right now?”

The muscle in Derek’s jaw jumped. “I broke a guy’s nose once for trying to stay past his three minute time limit. What makes you so special to warrant a full interview? People are going to come after me with questions and start digging.”

Stiles’ tongue poked out to trace along his bottom lip in thought. “Yeah? Well, people will still dig and ask questions if I post the pictures.”

“And you’re the one who’s going to be fielding the brunt of those people,” Derek wisely pointed out, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Stiles cursed as he realized how right Derek was. His servers weren’t equipped for the backlash such a scandal would produce, and Danny was next to impossible to sweet talk into upgrading his firewalls.

Pacing back and forth, the vlogger tried to think of a better bargain.

“Twenty questions!”

“Make it five.”

“What?” Stiles stopped and made sure his face clearly conveyed how stupid and unfair that suggestion even was. “Do you even know how to properly haggle? Fifteen questions, with five bonus follow-ups if you decide to be vague on purpose.”

Derek, thankfully, seemed to mull it over. “How vague?”

“Vague enough that my superior intellect can tell when you’re intentionally being difficult,” Stiles clarified with a wave of his hand. “So long as I can catch on to whatever hints you may drop, we’re fine. I could care less if my viewers are able to keep up.”

“Fair enough,” Derek agreed with a nod. “We’ll make it ten questions, with five bonus questions _if_ you’re too stupid to figure out how to word questions properly.”

“Hey!” Stiles paused from sliding on his shoes. “You can’t change the agreement after saying it was fair!”

Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed Stiles by the arm, uncaring at the limp the reporter sported as he tried to keep up while being dragged out of the room. “I’m a velocity jockey, moron, we don’t play the game because it’s fair.”

His point had Stiles mentally kicking his own naivety as he was ushered to the door. Once there, he was let go so he could properly finish putting his other shoe on. As he straightened, his camera was finally handed to him.

“Oh, and…” Derek trailed off, his finger pointing at Stiles’ chest.

“Stiles?” the vlogger helpfully offered.

Derek let out a ghost of a laugh. “Stiles. I’ll be sure to remember that.” He stepped closer, his partially-open demeanor shutting down cold. “Because if any of those images pop up _anywhere_ , I will put my career on hold to personally hunt you down and rip your throat out.”

Stiles’ eyes were wide. Oh, God, Derek’s manager exchanged emails with him – his proxy could be traced through all the bounces! The threat expanded and grew to ridiculous proportions in Stiles’ mind, until all he could imagine was his bedroom covered in little pieces of his corpse.

“You’ll—” he swallowed thickly. “With your teeth? Oh dear God, so the rumors about you being part-wyre are true?”

Derek frowned. “You want to start your interview now?”

Stiles glanced down at Derek’s still-naked body, and then around at their surroundings. “Well...not really. No.”

Derek’s nod conveyed that Stiles had given the right answer.

“Soooo…should we set up a time? A meeting place? Ooorrr…” Stiles trailed off as all Derek did was twirl his finger around, prompting him to turn and face the door as it slid open. With a gentle shove, Stiles found himself standing out in the hotel hallway. “Or I could just contact your manager. Again.” He turned to face the now-closed door. “I bet he’ll be more lenient about upping my question limit to twenty-five!”

A dull thump sounded from inside the room, and Stiles ran without thought.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: old-sterek-feels


End file.
